


Treavor In The Sky, With No Lucy, and Certainly No Diamonds.

by Qu0t13



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, Am I doing this right?, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Bruises, Compared to Cannon, Creampie, Custis and Morgan Don't Care, Custis is gentle, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Does Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Apply Here?, Felt but not seen, First Time Uploading To A03, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Hair-pulling, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, High Treavor don't care, High Treavor is a bit of a slut, Implied Cum Inflation, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Marathon Sex, Morgan and Custis Don't Care, Morgan is rough, Morgan/Custis are 20, Multi, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-con blowjobs, OOC, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Possible underage sex, Prostate Massage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sober Treavor hates it, Somnophilia, Spitroasting, The Age of Consent in Dunwall is not Clear, There is blood., Treavor Doesn't Want it, Treavor Ends up Not Caring Either, Treavor Is High, Treavor gets fucked, Treavor gets fucked thrice, Treavor is 16, Trip to the Dentist Gone Wrong, Uncharacteristically Gentle Twins, Underage Rape/Non-con, Wisdom Teeth, gentle oral sex, mentioned blood, so wrong, wisdom teeth surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-12 17:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19233463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qu0t13/pseuds/Qu0t13
Summary: Treavor get's his wisdom teeth removed early, something goes wrong and he leaves the Orthodontist's higher than the fucking moon.His brother help themselves like the greedy bastards they are.The title is a fucking joke BTW.





	1. Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first time trying to write in present tense so if you see any glaring fuck-ups, feel free to shout at me.
> 
> Anyways enjoy you sick fuck.

Everything is cloudy in his head, voices and sounds are mere muffled echoes and he feels weightless and heavy all at once, the medicinal stench of the orthodontist’s office is still caught in his nose and the only thing he can taste is blood.

He’s sixteen and currently coming down from the highest high he will hopefully ever have to endure. His wisdom teeth surgery had occurred less than an hour before hand and the first three teeth came out with little to no complications, but nothing in his life has ever been simple so of course, the last tooth just had to go and fuse itself to his lower jaw.

The intended hour or so procedure became a grueling two hours and fourteen minutes of sawing the last tooth apart and removing it in bits and pieces, all the while, the orthodontist kept him jacked up on so many pain killers that he can’t walk straight or without falling. The only thing he knows when he wakes is that everything feels heavy and he wants to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately for him, his father and stepmother have an event that evening, an event that they seem hellbent on their children attending, so no, he can’t just nap off the rest of the amnesic at the dentist, especially since now, they’re late. Not that his stepmother gives much of a damn in the first place.

Despite the orthodontist’s offer, his stepmother abhorrently refuses to let him use a wheelchair to at least get to the coach, no, rather she hauls him up by his arm and drags him from the office, he fails to catch the pitiful look one of the dentists offers him as his stepmother delivers a firm slap to the back of his head and scolds him for attempting to lean against her.

The return… Walk to the coach was a blur, literally, his eyes, even with his glasses refuse to focus, the world spins on an axis around him and on multiple occasions he finds himself pause to lean against a wall waiting for the world to stop spinning.

His stepmother scolds him each and every time he pauses, though the few paces between them prove to be discouragement enough for her to resort to physical discipline. 

Likewise, the coach ride back home is entirely too long and disappointingly short, all he wants to do is sleep, but when he tries to lay across the seat, the seat that only he occupies, his stepmother scolds him again and unfortunately for him, the height of his head laying across the seat is within range of her foot. 

He settles for leaning against the side of the coach.

His eyes slip closed for what feels like a moment before his stepmother’s hand collides weakly with the side of his head, knocking him into consciousness and into the side of the coach.

“We’re here Treavor!” She hisses, “I have been calling your name for the past five minutes! On your feet young man!”

Groggily he rises to follow her, unsteady in every way as he stumbles down the coach steps, his stepmother refuses to allow him to lean on her, let alone touch her so he’s off in his own hazy world as he stumbles after the woman. 

His father is already in the entrance hall waiting for them, irritation furrows his brow as he regards his third son with a glare before turning to his second wife to offer her some choice words, their marriage is of stipulation, and it shows in the way she sneers back to her husband.

He still can’t hear past the echoing fog hovering about his head, but he tries to be quiet as he shuffles towards one of the few foyer seat sets scattered about the room, he does not slump down into the first seat his hand finds no matter how tempting the proposition is, rather he does his best to remain on his feet as he balances himself against the back of the chair.

His father shouts something and as if summoned, which they most likely were, his brothers appear at the top of the stairs, dressed to the nines in black and white, ready to go. 

His stepmother is shouting, he only noticed her as she moves towards him, he can’t hear her, but her face is twisted, and her mouth is moving to oddly for normal conversation.

His brothers grin like wolves as they reach the bottom landing, turning to him with broad smiles. Normally those smiles spell inbound disaster, the kind of disaster that would leave him content with contemplating a quiet death or perhaps the life of a recluse, but in his state, smiles are just smiles, no matter how wolfish.

He loses sight of his brothers as his stepmother’s palm collides with his cheek, snapping his head to the side and loosening his lips. 

For a brief moment pride swells in his chest as his stepmother staggers away, silent scream caught in her throat.

All he can taste is blood, blood which is now spilling over his lips, over the front of his shirt and maybe onto the chair he is leaning over.

His stepmother is shrieking at his father who is looking at his pocket watch, that angry scowl somehow deeper.

Words, heated hateful words are exchanged, fingers pointed.

All he wants to do is sleep.

His brothers step forward, moving between father and his stepmother to offer their piece which miraculously brings the argument to a simmer.

He watches through hazy eyes as the four outlines of people stand and move their hands and arms about in conversation, he has no idea what they are saying, only that it seems to pacify father and infuriate his stepmother.

He blinks heavily and finds himself almost slipping to the floor then and there, but arms grab him and hoist him back to his feet, he can feel himself being manhandled as his arms are looped over twin shoulders.

He has some vague sense to worry, to resist whatever is about to occur and so finds himself attempting to stand on his own once more to move away from his brothers.

Lips brush the shell of his ear and he stills. 

The message is still deaf to him, but they have played these games far, far, far too many times for him to forget the rules. He knows exactly what his brothers want to play, and he has no idea how he can escape. 

Over his shoulder, his father and stepmother bid them farewell, his brothers assure them that they’ll take care of him as they drag him upstairs.

He stumbles along, supported only by his brother’s shoulders, his legs feel foreign and impossibly heavy though that does little to deter him from trying to stand for himself. His head swims but he’s eloquent enough to hope, to pray his brothers just dump him into a broom closet, they’re not nearly kind enough to leave him in his room.

Though apparently that day they are not even kind enough to leave him to his suffering either. 

Morgan and Custis’ bedroom is an oddity within the house, two standard, noble standard, bedrooms combined into one. Two desks, two closets and dresses, two bookshelves, two connecting bathrooms. When sober, the room itself is enough to rouse the primordial part of his brain, the part of him that responds to his brothers touches and words as if they are not sin.

His breath falters as his brothers drag him through the threshold of their room, his gaze is still unfocused, but he knows the destination well enough. Just as everything else in the room, there are two beds, one exclusively for the twins, the other reserved specifically for their cruel games.

He already knows which bed he is destined for that evening.

The room spins for a solid minute as he bounces against the comforter, his ears ring, his vision blurs and he bonelessly sinks into the comforter with a quiet groan.

Part of him is screaming, desperate and afraid as a solid mass settles over him.

No words pass his lips.

Hands fondle and tug at his over coat before the not quite cool air of the bedroom brushes against his exposed chest.

His eyes slip closed as a hand settles against his stomach.

His mind becomes a dark, quiet hole as his pants are opened. 

 

He is dazed and sluggish when he wakes, the disconnect between himself and the rest of his body seems to have dissipated, if only just as he feels himself writhe atop the bed, back arching with what little control he has as his hips roll back against the fingers pressing inside of him.

His hands loosely clench at the sheets as the whimper to leave his throat becomes muffled. He can’t exactly feel it, his mouth is numb, his head heavy, the medical smell has been replaced by thick musk and his tongue a foreign entity within his mouth, but he knows his jaw will be aching exquisitely once the remaining medication clears his system. 

He knows the position he is in well, his legs are spread wide, his knees bent, clothing pooled somewhere on the floor and from the mortifying times where his brothers decided to put their full length mirror to indecent use, he knows he looks like sin.  
His head rests just over the edge of the bed, aligning his throat for the head of a warm cock already leisurely thrusting past his jaw, though not yet deeper to press into his gullet, a mercy if his brother is capable of such.

Another whine escapes his throat as a third finger presses into him, a hand appears against his waist, stilling the unconscious roll of his hip before he could even think to dissuade the action. A low chuckle vibrates above his head as another hand comes to rest against his neck, fingers easily curling around the back while the thumb gently presses against the hollow of his throat.

“Is someone awake now?” Morgan hums heatedly as he brings his cockhead to sit just at his lips. He means to curse and spit, but all he manages to offer his older brother a quiet kind of sigh. He knows better then to bite, even in his state of complete apathy, he knows the wrath of his brother is not to be toyed with.

Some part of him cries from the darkest corner of his mind as he slowly maneuvers his heavy tongue to press against the cock before him. 

All he wants to do is sleep. He is too tired to fight.

Morgan hums approvingly from above before easing his way back into his mouth, again, not breaching his throat, and at the same slow pace from before, the hand on his throat trails up to his jaw, fingers run along the bone beneath encouragingly, he laves the member as best he can with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks to suckle with no sensation.

He finds himself arching again as the fingers within him press against his still young prostate, the would be cry to pass his lips becomes a muffled whimper as the fingers abandon the sensation to spread as far as his body will allow.

He feels hot and tired; his head desperately wants to shut off again but the sparks of pleasure which breach the rolling fog like lighting on a stormy night keep him present and the ache of revulsion at bay.

The three fingers within him begin to thrust casually, not in time with Morgan but just as gently. Custis’ thumb slides up the space between his entrance and his own member, pressing gently at the skin connecting his balls. He can feel his already weeping prick twitch at the attention accompanied by the purposefully spontaneous pressure applied to his prostate. 

The fog in his head never fades, rather it becomes intertwined with the gratification of his torment, his body is an instrument his brothers know best and where shame and fear and anger would typically overrule any sort of pleasure these sinful encounters could provide, in this moment, his head is quiet and his body sings.

The iron tinge of blood in his mouth grows weak as Morgan’s hip begins to stutter, still, the prick is never forced into his throat even as the beginnings of ecstasy begin to smear across his tongue.

Custis’ fingers no longer face resistance is they idly continue with their task, he is dimly aware that his brothers are taking their sweet time with him, a typical encounter with the twins is designed to degrade and humiliate, they give him the option to ease any pain yes, but it is an option he rarely takes or loses due to his resistances to their advances.

But tonight, the event is unhurried and gentle, filled with pleased sighs, rolling hips and foreign sorts of comfort he never knew could exist. 

The first tears of the night are for once brought on by pleasure.

Custis’ fingers shift within him to tortuously press against his prostate, he at first expects the fingers to move away to prolong his exquisite agony, but the fingers do not retreat and behind his eyelids, he sees stars.

His hips jerk and roll, towards or away from the sensation he couldn’t know, Custis merely chuckles at his antics before pressing his fingers further into the bundle of nerves. 

His back arches high off the bed, the scream in his lungs escapes as a high whine. He can feel white hot pleasure run through his veins as something warm splatters against his chest and stomach.

Above him, he hears Morgan curse something heated before the cock in his mouth finally buries itself down his throat, the abrupt movement would have been painful had it not been for the fog clouding his head. 

The fingers within him, much to his disappointment, disappears as a firm body crawls over his prone form, Morgan’s hips stutter into his mouth while Custis’ hands begin to trail over his form. One hand settles on his abdomen to keep him in place while the other replaces Morgan’s hand around his neck.

Custis’ body is warm and firm atop his own, they’re nearly chest to chest though Custis does have his head bowed to observe what must have been an obscene sight as his throat willingly accepts the cock, expanding with its presence, receding without.

Morgan offers one last keened curse before pressing himself fully into his throat, burying his head between thighs. In such prior instances, hacking and coughing followed by gagging would ensue as he would dutifully attempt to reject his brothers spend, if they wanted him to swallow, typically a knife or gun would have to be pressed to his chin.

But then and there are no such means of persuasion, only the threat of chocking which he, when sober, usually had no qualms about. 

Heat, luxurious heat, swells at the back of his throat.

The part of him that screams to cough to gag, to get rid of the vile release is silenced by both the fog and a sheer, overwhelming desire to please.

He swallows without hesitation.

He can feel Custis lean close to his throat then, and as the next spurt of heat leaves his brother, the following swallow is accompanied by a kiss to his neck, directly over the point where the head of Morgan’s cock sits.

It’s sinful and pure bliss and he revels in the emotions which swell in his chest.

His arms, though still impossibly heavy, come to cling to Custis’ shoulders, he can feel his brother’s smile in the next kiss pressed to his throat as he swallows down another spurt of heat.

Vaguely, somewhere at the back of his mind he finds himself thinking that this, right here, is what love feels like. The warmth the security the intimacy all coil around him and settle into the blissful haze floating about his mind. And if he swallows some extra few times around Morgan after his brother reaches completion just to give Custis an excuse to continue kissing his throat neither brother would be the wiser.

Eventually, his need to breathe overweighs his desire to remain where he is, content and warm, with heat pooling in his belly and lips at his neck. Gingerly, as to not cause pain, he runs his lower jaw over the topside of Morgan’s prick, a silent yet firm request on his end, thankfully, this time, Morgan obliges and gently removes himself.

He keeps his lips firmly around the retreating cock as it slips from his throat, greedily gathering any spend lingering on the member before swallowing it down as well.

The following inhale is slow as breath is reintroduced to his lungs, the hand cradling the back of his neck slowly raises his head before firm lips swallow the whine which threatened to escape.

Custis was always the one to initiate kisses, just as Morgan had always been one to use his teeth. Perhaps it was because his brother he knew he hated those sinful caresses, but whenever an opportunity arose, Custis would find ways to deliver anything from quick passing pecks to lips bruising sessions against walls. 

Then a tongue presses through his lips and with what little sense he has of his own, he responds in kind. Custis, of course, takes control of the smoldering kiss, lips press heated and hungrily as tongues slide together slowly.

When Custis finally pulls away, pressing one last quick peck to his chin, he dared to open his eyes, the room is dim with low lamplight, the sky beyond the windows dull fire as sunset bleeds to dusk. He blinks, ponders briefly as to how long he had been asleep before his brothers awoke him to their games before his attention is caught by a weight between his legs.

He wants to drop his head back over the edge of the bed and close his eyes again, but a hand latches onto his hair and pulls his head back up to face his older brother.

Custis sits between his parted legs, watching him silently, expectantly. He knows that he is to beg, beg and plead for his brothers and on any other day, he would bite his lips and hold his tongue until his brother’s grew bored and either stimulated him into begging or simply took what they pleased.

But tonight, whatever shred of decency or shame which possesses him to be difficult, is silent, he can feel the whimpers escape his lips, but with his tongue so heavy and the fog so thick, words seem impossible.

“You were doing so well.” Morgan t’skd from above, he whines at that, some strange part of him wants so very badly to do well. His hands return to the blanket beneath him as he feebly rolls his hips only for Custis’ hands to return to his sides to still the action.

“Ask nicely Treavor.” He coos slyly as he shuffles close to his thigh, he throws his head back against Morgan’s grip and groans as Custis teasingly grinds his own prick against him. His tongue is heavy, but he finds himself babbling what he hopes were pleas.

Custis chuckles, “Use your words Treavor.” He scolds lightly.

He in turn sobs as he takes a breath, his words lost in his head so he can’t be sure he is even speaking, but Custis certainly understands what he is begging for as he loosely wraps his legs around his brother’s hips, weakly attempting to draw him closer. 

Custis grins as he slowly, slowly allows himself to be tugged closer, he knows the rolling in his throat must sound obscene, but he is rewarded regardless by the blunt head of Custis’ prick pressing against his entrance, even slicked with oil as is, he offers the member no resistance as it slides inside, slow and measured despite the jerks of his hips urging Custis to hurry. 

He can feel the whimpers clawing their way up his throat as his eyes roll, Morgan’s grip on his head prevents him from throwing his head back as fresh tears begin to trail down his cheeks.

Custis pauses, hardly halfway inside to lean over him once more, lips and tongue trace the trails of tears. He doesn’t know why, but at the first opportunity that presents itself he tilts his head to press his lips against his brother’s. Custis chuckles before purposefully dipping low to nip at his jaw, he merely rolls his hips and offers an impatient whine.

Custis sighs as he leans back, “Be a dear brother, entertain Treavor’s mouth again, would you?”

Before the words register, his head is already back over the edge of the bed, this is a punishment for his impatience, part of him thinks it cruelly unfair, he cannot speak, yet they expect him to beg.

His thoughts are silenced by the head of Morgan’s cock once again pressing against his lips, he slacks his jaw obediently in preparation to accommodate Morgan. The action draws a chuckle from the brother above him before the familiar cockhead brushes past his parted lips. He mouths at what little of the cockhead Morgan offers him with gentle brushes of lip and tongue, he can feel Morgan’s eyes burning into him as the prick gradually stiffens, shame is replaced by pride as the head pushing past his lips and beyond his teeth but again not down his throat.

Morgan stills in his mouth, leaving him to please his brother with a heavy tongue, part of him is revolted that he has been reduced to such a sick thing, part of him is thoroughly pleased by his predicament and another part wishes Morgan would move.

A keened whimper crawls up his throat Custis continues to press in.

He has taken his brothers in such manners before, splayed out between them in a sinful mockery of a whore. The pressure of backside as Custis inches his way inside would usually send rolls of disgust and shame up his spine, encounters such as these often leave him bloody, bruised and ashamed, but the content little sigh that escapes around Morgan as he feels his brother’s hips come to rest flush against him brings about no such ill emotions. 

Custis stills for a moment and he whines, the hands on his hips prevent him from squirming, so he clenches down around the prick inside him, Custis takes a sharp breath which he releases as a chuckle before slowly taking a hand and pressing it to his stomach, he moans around Morgan heatedly.

He can feel Custis beneath that palm, hot and heavy and wonderfully deep.

Custis returns one hand to his waist while the other comes to rest just by his shoulder as his brother returns to cage him to the bed beneath his body.

His chest brushes with Custis’ as he arches at the first roll of his brother’s hips, instinctively his arms, however weakened, return to rest along the broad shoulders above him.

The gentle rolling of Custis’ hips is divine, drawing breathless gasps from him with every movement while the cock in his mouth continues to harden, Morgan always favored watching his descent into some obscene thing to fill and fuck.

But the careful, shallow thrusts Custis has set as their rhythm has him thinking of fine china and delicacy, something worth cherishing. He manages to somehow hike his legs higher over Custis, holding his older brother between his thighs as tightly as his drug fueled body allows. One arm remains at Custis’ shoulder while the other runs along his brothers back, smearing the pooling beads of sweat scattered like stars across the expanse of heated skin before settling to clutch at the sweat slick hair atop his head.

Despite the wonderfully intimate pace, he can feel the heat pooling in his gut as Custis continues to brush and press into him so perfectly. Heated lips press wherever Custis can reach in his position, tongue and the edge of teeth drag and scrape tenderly along his shoulders, lips nibble at his ears, hands run along his body, every touch is fire and passion.

He rolls his hips against Custis’ as he moans some enticing whimper against Morgan. Lips and teeth and tongue attach to the spot just below his ear as Custis adjusts his pace. Still tender and so very pleasing, but somehow deeper, more stimulating, the heat in his gut makes his toes curl and his back arch.

“May I kiss him brother?” Custis murmurs feverishly against his neck as he shifts his hips once more, this time directly stimulating his prostate with every motion. He writhes in ecstasy, his chocked off moan slips free as Morgan retreats from his mouth, the thin strand of saliva connecting them leaves a cool trail over his cheek as it falls, he soon forgets it as Custis’s hand reaches around to cradle the back of his head.

The kiss is filthy.

Custis swallows every whimper, whine or moan to pass his lips, his brothers’ tongue is demanding and warm against his own. His hands twist in Custis’ hair, earning him a firm nip to his lower lip as Custis hisses.

Their bodies move together fluidly as he desperately tries to will his body to keep pace with Custis, grinding back against his brother’s hips with fever.

He breaks away from his brother’s mouth to scream as the heat in his gut erupts into flaming euphoria, he can feel wet warmth spread and smear between himself and his brother as Custis snaps his hips forward, burying himself as deep as he can.

He cries into his brother’s mouth once more as the cock seated inside his gut twitches and molten pleasure seeps into his core. Custis angles his hips just so perfectly to allow his spend to slip deeper and deeper, the sensation is indescribably pleasing, heat and pleasure coil and press further into him with every spurt of his brother’s cock.

He rolls his hips languidly against his brother as a whine passes his lips, a whine which Custis greedily swallows. They lay there together that way for a time, a time in his opinion which passes far too quickly. Custis is a rock in the sea of pleasure he finds himself lost in, a rock which he clings to like a lifeline.

Lips and tongue slide together effortlessly, teeth tap as heated breath passes between their open mouths.

Heat, Custis’ heat fills him so completely that he never realized he was missing something in the first place.

The bliss he happily looses himself to quells the sickening thoughts of how exactly he is to dispose of the release seated in his gut, rather, he thinks once again that this is love, this warmth, this bliss this security.

This is love.

He finds himself pressing against Custis’ lips a touch harder.

Eventually and unfortunately, all good things come to an end as Custis’ prick offers one last twitch and Custis’ mouth presses one last moist slide of lips against his own. 

He whimpers as Custis pulls away, his arms are heavy and do little to keep his brother close, Custis slips from his hold, leaving him on the bed as he feels the flaccid prick inside him ease its way out, leaving only the heated weight of his brother’s spend sitting in his gut, still wonderfully warm, but he can feel just how painfully empty he is, and the sensation displeases him greatly.

He rolls his hips and whimpers some obscene sound as he feels the warmth in his gut sway with his movements.

Hands appear at his hips to roll him to his side before dragging him across the duvet, the bed dips as another body, equally familiar, settles behind him, he finds himself willingly spreading his legs for Morgan, whimpering what could have been his other brother’s name as a hand tugs his leg up and over a broad shoulder.

Teeth scrape his calf, not hard, not with the intention to hurt, but more so to distract as he is shifted across the bed. Morgan lightly grinds his stiffened cock against the leg he had propped over his shoulder while Custis gently maneuvers him into his lap.

His cheek presses against Custis’ thigh, and for a moment no one moves. He can feel the head of Morgan’s prick teasing the rim of his entrance, still slick with oil and warm with Custis’ spend. He lazily opens an eye to look up to the brother before him, Custis watches him with a bemused expression, his eyes blown wide and his lips bruised.

He knows he must look like something sinful as he rolls his hips against Morgan, sighing contently as the teasing head of the cock catches and dips inside. Unlike Custis, Morgan allows him to writhe and roll against him, which he does so in earnest as he presses back against his other brother, taking more and more of the cock inside with each twist of his hips.

He’s about halfway on the shaft and halfway off Custis’ lap when Morgan snaps his hips forward to meet his own, again he welcomes the intrusion with a heated sob, he is well fucked by then and he knows it, his channel is slick, warm, prepared and oh so welcoming. Morgan leaves him whimpering and writhing as he drags his cock in and out, retreating far enough to leave him feeling painfully empty to filling him perfectly as their hips meet.

A hand cradles the back of his head and he looks up to meet Custis’ heated gaze as another warm cockhead gently presses against his lips, he relaxes his jaw and the prick, slick with spend and sweet rose oil slides past his lips.

Fingers run through his hair encouragingly followed by a delightful sigh as Morgan bucks his hips hard enough to send him further into Custis’ lap and forcing the prick in his mouth deeper, just barely breaching his throat but no further.

As Morgan draws back, he drags him off the cock as well before repeating the actions. Over and over he is forced upon Custis’ prick as Morgan rocks into him, the grip his other brother has on his leg will surely bruise come morning, but all he can think about is the way Custis’ spend, already heavy in his gut, sloshed with every move Morgan makes.

His own liquid fire begins to trickle within him, pooling at the base of his stomach.

His hands come to rest at Custis’ thighs to give him some leverage against Morgan’s now feverish pace, he can tell his brother is close and he delights at the thought.

His hips twist ever so slightly to push back against his brother whilst keeping Custis confined between his lips, he bobs his head and suckles at the cock in his mouth as he squeezes his walls around Morgan’s prick, feeling the drag of the heated members within him. Custis gently guides his head from the cock, allowing him to suck the head, which in his foggy state, he does so lovingly, but little more. 

His question is aimed at Morgan, though his gaze remains fixated on him.

“Would you have issue if I finished inside Treavor tonight?”

Morgan huffs from behind him as he presses close, rolling his hips roughly, his cock still stiff but not yet prepared to relinquish his spend.

“You are certainly greedy tonight brother.” Morgan chides playfully as he presses impossibly deeper into his body.

“I’ll allow it, but only if I can have Treavor first thing in the morning.”

He cries at the thought and presses back against his brother, tightening around the prick inside of him, begging for more.  
Morgan takes pity on him and rolls his hips once more before pulling out halfway, burying his cock inside the wet heat only moments later while Custis returns his cock to his mouth.

Before the fire in his veins can erupt Morgan’s hips stutter to a halt, flush against his backside just as Custis’ had. The feeling of spreading spend and twitching cock is no less pleasant, Morgan’s heat joins Custis’, seeping deep within to settle impossibly far inside. Out of curiosity, he trails a hand from Custis’ leg to his own stomach just as his brother had done earlier.

The cock within him twitches beneath his palm, and to his delight, an invisible swell presses against his hand. Morgan lifts the leg that was once over his shoulder off, but he does not release the hold he has beneath his knee. He whimpers as he feels Morgan slowly begin to retreat, despite the fact that his cock is still twitching, still releasing that sinful warmth.

He clenches down around the prick, desperate to keep it inside if him until Morgan is done. He rolls his hips and writhes, wanting and needing for the luxurious heat to remain inside.

Despite his efforts, Morgan pulls free, though not far. The few remaining precious spurts of spend are all aimed directly into his soppy, loose entrance and he arches, crying pitifully as he feels a rivulet of that glorious warmth spill from his hole, he clenches as best he can to savor and save the spend within him, determined not to waste another drop as he is forced to his stomach.

Morgan disappears from behind him as Custis maneuvers himself to rolls on top of his prone form, heavy and warm. One arm settles just over his shoulder as a hand cups his neck, he’d fear the heavy hand would choke him on any other day but for the moment the action only offers comfort.

He spreads his legs best he can with Custis looming over his back, the space beneath Custis is restricting but he manages to push back against his brother’s cock, a desperate, needy whine escapes his throat as he rocks against Custis.

Lips press against the back of his ear, murmuring filthy promises and praises against the delicate flesh as he feels the head of the prick align with his entrance.

Custis sinks inside in one fluid motion, he can feel himself spread wide to accommodate his brother and the sound of their second joining is scandalous beyond words.

Custis rocks into him desperately, the weight of his brother keeps him pinned to the spot, he is at Custis’ mercy and at the moment there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

He can’t writhe, only moan and plead and bask in the heaven his brother provides. Lips tongue and teeth trail along the back of his neck, his shoulders, whenever Custis is able to reach he lavishes with attention as his hips roll and rock into the body below.

He is loose and wet, enough so that every thrust Custis grants him is accompanied by a tantalizingly wet sucking noise as he slips back inside.

He can feel Custis’ other arm slide beneath his stomach, pressing just against the cock within him as he gently hoists him up higher onto his knees. His own arms move, one clasps at the hand around his throat while the other reaches around to grip Custis’ forearm. Fingers trail across his own prick, feather light, teasing touches that are hardly felt but at the same time everything he needs. 

He spills into his brother’s hand with a choked sob. Custis continues toying with his member until his touches burn and he begins to cry. Custis’ teeth lightly sink into his earlobe before the frantic pace of their coupling stills, the arm beneath him retreats and together, with Custis still sprawled across his back, they fall onto the bed in a warm heap of limbs.

He lays there beneath his brother in perfect contentment, the world can wait. Custis continues to lap at his neck with kisses and tongue as his cock twitches and swells with his release. 

There is the sound of shifting blankets from across the room before Custis heaves a sigh. He blindly grasps at the arms wrapping around him as Custis maneuvers him into his lap.

The outline of Morgan appears before him as a damp cloth presses against his stomach and chest, quiet words, lost to him, pass between his brothers, the cock inside him continues to shoot Custis’ spend further and further into him.  
Despite his uncooperative disposition, Custis somehow manages to move him to the other bed, the twins’ bed. He is set on his side with Custis curling around him, guarding him from cold and danger.

The cock within him offers some few last lazy spurts before finally stilling, his whine is swallowed by Morgan as he slides beneath the sheets in front of him, it is only then that he realizes just how close he is to his brothers.

Morgan’s kisses, when he is cruel enough to offer them, are biting and bruising and bloody. But the warm slide of familiar lips and the gentle tongue is nearly foreign, he sighs into the mouth before him as Morgan presses closer, the intimacy is sensual, but no longer demanding.

His brothers have had their fun for the evening.

Gradually, the kiss loses the tongue as Morgan settles for sucking at his lips once his tongue falls still. He returns in kind though, far less coordinated.

Custis moves behind him, drawing the cover back to reach over and fiddle with the lamp. The cock still lodged inside of him shifts, the small cry that escapes his throat is devoured by Morgan as he murmurs heated coos against his lips.

Custis returns to his rightful place behind him, chasing away the chill his absence left as his arms encircle him, holding him close as Morgan pulls away to flip off his own lamp.

When he opens his eyes, the room is dark save for the near invisible starlight wafting through the window.

The surrounding warmth is comforting, his brothers are barely visible in the surrounding dark, but their gentle breathing and the languid rocking caused by the rise and fall of their chests is relaxing.

His head is quiet, still thick with medical fog, his eyes are heavy, he is warm, and he wants to sleep.

He offers his brother what he believes is a quiet, good night.

His eyes close, it is dark, he does not see the surprise cross Morgan’s eyes, nor does he feel Custis tightening his hold of him as lips brush a foreign message against the shell of his ear. 

 

Come dawn and he is lucid enough to cry as he is made to writhe about Morgan’s lap and scream as his brother hisses a filthy, “I love you.” Against his lips.


	2. Proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after.  
> Treavor gets fucked, mostly by Morgan, but still, fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two ya nasties!

One of the first things he thinks he notices when he wakes is just how sore he is. His jaw throbs with a dull radiating ache, he can feel the bruises and bite marks littering his skin burn as he moves against the bed.

He knows, naturally, that pain is to be expected given yesterdays surgery and the previous evenings… Festivities. But it is not the pain that wakes him…

The second thing he not so much notices but more so… Registers, is the gentle rolling of his brother’s hips and the sensual slide of heated cock pressing into him.

This is what wakes him.

The sleepy warmth of his head dissipates as his situation settles in his head. 

His one leg is inelegantly propped over Custis’ waist, allowing his brother easy access to his entrance. He feels his body offer no resistance to his brother’s advance, though he does arch his back once he registers the gentle lull of pleasure coiling in his gut.

He is still slick and warm and loose from the night before, the cock, though slow and unhurried, finds a home within him, inviting and welcoming, pressing into him perfectly, filing him wonderfully. 

The hand cupping his mouth stifles the whimpers that so desperately want to escape his throat even in sleep, though now awake, he whines into the palm as the cock presses against his prostate. 

He thinks he should maybe struggle, with the amnestic no longer clouding his head he has no excuse to allow his brothers to continue… But he is tired, he finds himself thinking. Too tired to oppose his brother, his bones feel heavy. Too loose, too slick to impede the prick within him. 

All he can find himself capable of is laying there, spread open and around his brother to abide by his sinful whims. 

“Shhh”

He wasn’t even aware he was sobbing into the palm covering his mouth.

Custis’ lips gently press against the back of his ear as his brother rolls his hips lazily once more.

“I promised you to Morgan first thing in the morning.” His brother whispers softly as their hips press together. He can feel his brothers spend from the previous evening gently sway within his gut, no longer as deep as it once was…

He feels full.

Fuller than he perhaps aught to. Briefly he wonders if this Custis’ first assault of his body that day…

Or just the one he awoke too…

The drugs from the previous day have mostly dissipated, the ache in his jaw confirms that, but he still feels impossibly heavy in his brother’s hold. 

The voice in the back of his head has returned, once again screaming and crying for him to fight back.

A muffled moan escapes instead as Custis pulls his hips back ever so slightly before sliding back inside, he presses back against his brother, grinding down against the prick behind him.

An arm wraps around his waist, stilling his actions.

“Don’t move.” Custis breaths as he holds him still before torturously pulling back once more.

“You wouldn’t want to wake Morgan, would you?” Custis whispers heatedly before his hips return to press against him.

He slowly opens his eyes at that.

Predawn light has just begun to filter in through the windows, painting the room a moody sort of purple as the dark of night meets the light of day. His vision is unfocused without his glasses, but he can see Morgan, hardly a hand separating them, sleeping peacefully.  
He whimpers into the palm over his mouth.

Custis’ chest stutters with a stifled chuckle as his cock teasingly drags along within him.

“I promised him last night that he could have you in the morning.” His words are accompanied by a particularly deep roll of his hips.

“But you were such a temptation when I woke.” A tongue drags along the nape of his neck, leaving a heated trail to cool in its wake.

“You were dreaming, you know?” Custis breathes. “Writhing against me in your sleep, it was a lovely thing to wake to.” His brothers’ words end in a low hiss as his hips return to press flush against the body before him.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

One of his arms is stuck between himself and Custis, leaving the other to grasp at the arm Custis’ has around his waist. He is pinned against his brother, helpless, and unlike last night when Custis had trapped him against the mattress and taken him on his stomach.  
This is purely exquisite torture. 

Every shift and roll of his brother’s hips is designed to stimulate and please, but never enough to fulfill the burning ache settling in his bones. If he could, he would writhe in blissful agony.

But he cannot. 

He can only lay between his brothers and bite his tongue as Custis continues to gently roll his hips and sink his cock into the warm, wet heat he has to offer. 

Custis is chasing his own pleasure, he is just his brother’s means of release.

He presses his face further against the pillow and closes his eyes, he can think of a thousand ways to escape his situation, most leave him bloody and beaten.

The screaming voice in his head assures him that he’d survive.

But another part of him doesn’t want to leave. 

Maybe the medication is not yet fully dispelled, maybe he is simply too tired to care. 

Some sickening part of him thinks that maybe he likes this.

Regardless of his excuses, he does not bite the hand covering his mouth, he does not kick or scream or thrash.  
He cannot bring himself to. 

“You are so greedy brother…” A quiet voice murmurs groggily as the body before him shifts, Custis chuckles lightly before removing the hand covering his mouth and setting the palm against his throat to allow the keened moan freedom as he snaps his hips forward. He quakes with the movement, still immobilised by both his brother and his own inaction.

His brother’s cock slides against his walls fluidly, he is powerless to stall, stop or encourage the pacing of his brother’s hips, he can only be thankful that Custis is considerate enough to now chase both of their releases. 

His body tingles and burns with each press of hip and lip and teeth and tongue.

Morgan watches silently, drawing the blankets which shields them from the rising dawn to better appreciate the show. The brother before him makes no move to join, despite the whimper and murmured cry of his name, Morgan merely watches as he idly strokes himself. He whimpers something desperate, a name, a plea he can’t be sure, the hand he holds over Custis’ arm dips down to grip his own member as the liquid fire seated in his gut begins to bubble.

Morgan tuts and snags his wrist before the fire inside can escape.

“None of that now Treavor.” He coos heatedly as he shuffles closer, a hand runs through his hair, tilting his head back ever so slightly, he whines and pressed both into the palm and up towards his brother, seeking sickening comfort.

“Custis is doing something very nice for you Treavor, wouldn’t you agree?” Morgan murmurs, his lips, his breath merely brushing his own as he speaks. He finds himself nodding, feverishly. 

The action earns him a subdued roll of hip as Custis shifts to observe the interaction between his twin and younger brother.

“Use your words Treavor.” Morgan coos, “Custis is doing something nice for you, yes?”

Custis chose at that moment to roll his hips perfectly then, the would be whisper of, ‘yes’ he has perched atop his tongue becomes a strangled and straining whimper of agreement.

Morgan chuckles and nips at his lower lip. 

“Well then?” His brother purrs as a finger gently runs along the underside of his prick, he whines and tries to press against the featherlight caress.

“Do you think Custis incapable of seeing to your needs?”

Custis huffed a sort of half-laugh, half-groan as he begins to rock into the body before him in earnest, forcing strained whimpers and gasps from the younger brother.

The hand Morgan holds is brought to his elder brother’s mouth, he watches through hazy eyes as Morgan peppers his palm with little kisses before a hot tongue presses against the center of his hand, slick with drool.

The sensation is strange but not unpleasant, still he whines at the action, he knows what’s next.

Once his hand is adequately slick, Morgan presses one final kiss to his palm before dragging his hand down to the stiff prick resting against Morgan’s stomach.

The member is heated and heavy in his hand, he can feel it pulse and twitch in his palm as he runs his hand up and down his brother, smearing the pooling bead gathering at the cockhead with his thumb.

His position is awkward, with his back pinned against Custis’ chest, his leg thrown over his brother’s waist and one arm trapped, the best he can offer Morgan is enough to keep his brother interested, but nowhere near enough to complete his brother. Custis however seems far more invested in finishing now that Morgan is awake.

The roll of his brother’s hips and the slide of his cock is no longer languid and slow, though it is not feverish and desperate yet either. Little whimpers pass his lips with every shift the body behind him makes, these pleased little noises are rewarded with heated kisses to the back of his neck. 

Morgan shifts again, rolling onto his side to plaster himself against the youngest brother, their hips and cocks grind together with little room to spare. Morgan moves the hand he had been using to please his older brother to his own mouth, he begrudgingly cleans his fingers of what little spend he collected.

Morgan’s arm begins to trail up his side.

They, the twins, move together, with Morgan pressing forward every time Custis pulls back and visa versa, leaving him trapped between them in a haze of warmth and pleasure.

Lips press against the edge of his mouth once he settles his clean hand against Morgan’s shoulder, grasping at his brother blindly as he loses himself to the wonderfully unwanted sensations surrounding him. He finds himself willingly opens for his brother…

Or at least he tries to.

The twinge of pain which erupts from his jaw brings tears to his eyes and a wounded whimper to his closed lips as the hand he settled against Morgan’s shoulder retracts, quickly, to cup his jaw. 

It is only once the pain returns to a dull throb that he notices his brother’s lack of motion.

Morgan’s hand comes to gently cup his chin once he removes his own hand, his gaze is contemplative as he trails a thumb over the bone below. Custis is tucked close, cock still hard and heavy, but still as he props himself up on his arm to look the small figure beside him over. He looks between his brothers nervously, he can ignore the wrongness of his situation if his brothers distract him well enough, but the quiet, contemplativeness his brothers observe him with sends shame rolling down his back.

This is so wrong, he thinks as Custis leans close to gently brush his lips against his temple.

“Careful brother.” Custis murmurs as his lips trail down to his neck, “Treavor is recovering from surgery, remember?”

A pleased whimper escapes his throat as Custis gently begins to roll his hips again. 

Wrongness aside, this is as close to heaven as he may ever reach. 

Morgan leans close to pepper his own gentle little touches of lip along his jaw, his brother does not seek his pain, he merely tries to soothe the ache, it’s the closest Morgan draws to an apology.

He rarely seeks his brother’s affection, both inside or out of their vile games, and more often then not, his desires are ignored or purposefully misinterpreted.

But the silent shift of his eyes pauses Morgan.

His elder brother grins like a wolf and for a moment, he fears that Morgan will ask him to beg, but Morgan is merciful that morning, uncharacteristically so.

A firm hand wraps around his cock, he swallows a pitiful moan as Morgan’s hand gently begins to move along the shaft. He returns the favor, the angle is no longer as cumbersome as it once was, something he is grateful for.

Both Morgan and Custis are larger than him, he thinks it natural, his brothers are older after all. But pressed between them as he is, he begins to ponder that, perhaps his brothers are not large, but he is small.

Morgan presses closer, shooing his hand away to clasp both of their members together in a single hand. His now free hand finds purchase on Morgan’s arm as his brother begins to pump their erections together.

He whines, conflicted, frustrated.

He wants to press back against Custis, take his brother as deep as he can, feel that sinful heat seep into him as his brother stills his hips and releases his seed.

He wants to roll his hips against Morgan to chase that liquid fire simmering in his veins, he wants to feel heat swell, splatter and spill across his stomach and chest.

He can do neither.

Custis holds his waist close, tight, barring him from rolling his hips. And with Morgan pressed so close, he can no longer arch his back. All he can do is lay between his brothers and cry little desperate whimpers he prays his brothers can understand. 

The purple predawn light gradually bleeds to golden morning. Morgan’s hand no longer holds his own cock as he teasingly strokes his brother, hardly enough to satisfy but so very pleasing nonetheless.

Custis’ cock drags along his walls sinuously; the head continuously brushes against his prostate now and he knows it will only be a matter of time before the pooling heat in his veins erupts.

A name passes his lips, who’s, he’s not sure, it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things as Custis presses perfectly, so perfectly into him that his vision fades to white and the heat below his skin escapes into Morgan’s hand.

He can feel his body moving as Custis’ hips stutter against his backside, as his teeth find the junction between his neck and shoulder. As Custis finally relaxes and stops, as heat swells inside him.

A kiss is pressed to his forehead as Custis soothes the bite mark on his shoulder with a heated tongue.

“You’ll be good for Morgan, won’t you Treavor?” Custis breathes quietly as he rolls his hips once more, sending his heated spend deeper within his body.

He nods slowly, groaning as Custis gently eases the leg he had propped over his waist off.

The cock within him drools some last bit of heat as Custis withdraws himself, heaving him sloppy, loose, open and empty. He can feel the heat roll about lazily, slipping down towards his entrance.

He instinctively rolls onto his stomach, pressing against Morgan as he raises his hips ever so slightly to prevent the slick warm spend from spilling. 

A whimper escapes his throat as, despite his best efforts, a heated trail of seed escapes. 

A thumb runs between his thighs, gathering the runaway line of pearl before gently returning the heat to his entrance. A finger easily slips inside, pressing curiously against his walls.

He whimpers headily and rolls his hips against the ungratifying incision. 

He wants more.

“Is this how you want me to take you?” Morgan purrs heatedly as he slides another finger inside, pressing the two digits as far as he can, rubbing his fingertips against his still burning prostate. 

“Pin you down on the bed beneath me?” Morgan shifts ever so slightly to lean over his prone form, not quite pinning him to the bed on his stomach as Custis had the night before, but merely hovering over his backside.

“Look how well you take me.” His brother huffs as a third finger is introduced to his already loose entrance, he welcomes the finger with a quiet, muffled moan as he buries his head into the pillow. 

There is no unpleasant burn, he is already loose enough to take Morgan and they both know it.

Morgan is teasing him.

Morgan wants him to beg.

The three fingers press against his prostate, massaging the bundle of nerves even as he writhes and cries atop the bed.  
He is torn between pressing against those fingers and trying to escape the endless assault of pleasure. 

He chooses the former.

Morgan holds his hand still and he can feel his brother’s eyes burn into his back as he presses and rolls his hips against his brother’s fingers. 

He knows he can easily spill himself over Morgan’s fingers, whether or not his brother allows him to is another question altogether, but in this moment, all he want’s is more.

“Please.” His voice is a straining whimper as he rolls his hips against Morgan’s fingers.  
Lips press to his shoulder blades.

“Please what Treavor?” Morgan murmurs into his skin. He doesn’t trust his voice; his tongue is still heavy, and his head is cloudy.

“Please, more?” He mumbles as he turns his head to the side, pressing his cheek into the pillow to shyly look up to his brother. Morgan is grinning like a wolf.

“More what Treavor?” His brother coos as he presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

He whines.

“Want you!”

Morgan merely chuckles as he spreads the three fingers he has inside the body beneath him.

“You have me Treavor…” 

He cries at that and tries to move away from the fingers, Morgan follows him dutifully. The digits press and rub along his walls, prying screams and sobs from his lungs as his head returns to the pillows to muffle his cries.

He can feel that liquid fire burning in his veins, he is close, so very close.

He wants more.

Another hand settles just around his waist as Morgan retracts his fingers. A chocked sob is wrenched from his lungs as he is rolled onto his back.

Morgan settles between his legs, looming over him, watching as the three fingers return.

He writhes, gripping the bedsheets as Morgan assaults his prostate relentlessly. His prick bounces against his stomach, hot and heavy, desperate for his own release. 

Murmured pleas fall heatedly from his lips as he arches his back, silencing only as a shrill scream escapes his throat.

White ecstasy blooms across his vision as his back arches impossibly higher, his own release splatters against his stomach and chest. He lays there panting, drawing desperate breath after breath into his lungs as Morgan’s fingers retreat from his entrance to run through the seed on his chest.

He doesn’t feel like he will survive whatever games Morgan has in mind for them, but he knows he doesn’t have much of a choice either. He groans pitifully as Morgan gently tugs him onto his lap, grinding their hips together as his brother slides his heated cock between his thighs, pressing over his entrance tantalizingly, but unfortunately not into him.

He whines, previous worry forgotten, he wants Morgan inside him.

Morgan’s cock is slicked with something more than just spit; he can tell by just how easily the member slides between his loosely pressed thighs. He risks a glance between their heated bodies and immediately falls back onto the pillows with a groan.

Pearly spend coats his brother’s cock. 

His own spend. 

Heat settles against his cheeks.

The action is wholly unnecessary and unimaginably pleasing. 

He rests his head back as Morgan leans close to nip at his neck as the tip of his cock gently presses into his awaiting entrance. The slide of the cock is sensual and unhurried, very unlike Morgan, especially considering the leisurely pace is absolutely unnecessary. He is slick with a combination of last night’s and Custis’ latest spend, and perfectly loose, Morgan ensure that mere moments ago. And at the moment, he is perfectly willing. 

Still, Morgan settles into him slowly, rocks against him gently.

The shower in the bathroom turns on.

The roll of Morgan’s hips is tantalizing and playful, he whines as he wraps his legs around his brother’s waist, drawing himself closer to Morgan. His brother merely chuckles before grasping his hips.

The hold Morgan has on him is not debilitating, he can still writhe and arch and roll his hips, which he does so earnestly, his brother’s grip on his hips is more so a reminder.

He is not in control here, Morgan is.

His hands curl into the bedspread as Morgan brushes against his prostate, a please hiss escapes his teeth followed by a small disgruntled sound as Morgan hoists his legs up over his shoulders.

He finds himself folded nearly in half as Morgan leans over him, his knees are close to his head but the would be burn of his protesting muscles is drowns in the electric pleasure of Morgan’s cock.

Gone is the slow, cautious roll of hips. 

Every move Morgan makes knocks the air from his lungs, he finds himself teetering at the edge of bliss each and every time Morgan presses their hips together.

He has no leverage in this position, so he settles his hands against Morgan’s chest, a silent plea which his brother gleefully compiles with. Morgan leans close to draw him into a searing kiss and his hands end up in his brother’s hair.

The kiss, while burning, is cautious.

Morgan tests each tug of lip and press of tongue before following through, with what little he can do without flinching in pain, he responds to his brother’s advances, pressing back against Morgan however shyly.

He still finds Morgan’s behavior odd. Morgan in his mind means bloody lips and bite marks, bruises and scraping nails. And while his brother does greedily swallow each gasping breath he releases, the firm rolling of his brother’s hips is still a far cry from Morgan’s typical bloody antics.

But he is hardly one to complain. 

Morgan brings the fire within him to a bubbling boil as the heat coils in his gut. There is pain deep below the surface of unyielding pleasure, the first telltale signs of overstimulation. 

His hands, tangled in his brother’s hair, are gently caught, Morgan moves to pin his wrists down over his head, he whimpers something unholy as Morgan leans back after offering him a quick peck to the forehead.

Then the already feverish pacing of their hips becomes desperate.

Morgan hovers over him, watching his face closely as the liquid fire begins to coil within his gut. He whimpers and arches as best he can given his position, his brother does not seek his pain, but his struggles bring a smile to Morgan’s face regardless.

He keens a high whimpered sob as Morgan presses into him and stills, heat does not bloom within him, but stars burn in his vision as his brother’s cock nestles against his prostate.

Morgan shifts his hips and ruts his prick directly against the bundle of nerves, he thinks he screams as his vision blurs, he knows his cock jumps and spills his own heat messily across his stomach and chest once more.

Morgan laughs above him before continuing to fuck into him, he offers his brother no resistance whatsoever. He is too blissed out to be anything more than warm hole for Morgan to fuck and fill, to be taken as he is. 

Morgan burns within him and above him as he leans close.

Morgan presses a kiss to his forehead before bringing their heads together. He knows he is crying now as he meets his brother’s brazen gaze through his own hazy eyes. 

He arches, more tears trail across his already wet cheeks as Morgan’s hips press fully against his own and still.  
This time heat does blossom, beautifully.

Morgan remains above him, watching as he cries. He can feel Morgan’s spend slipping inside him, sinking deep to join the other loads his brothers had gifted him the previous night. 

His wrists are released as Morgan gently tilts his head back to pull him into another kiss, he in turn returns his hands to his brother’s hair. Using his free hands, Morgan gently eases the legs propped over his shoulders down to around his waist before maneuvering his arms to slide beneath the body below him. 

His hands move from Morgan’s hair to clumsily clings to his brother’s shoulders as Morgan hauls him upright, the cock inside of him slides ever so slightly deeper. He gasps and whines as he feels the combination of spend seated within his gut slip and shift down towards his entrance.

The only thing preventing the seed from escaping is Morgan. 

The room slowly spins as Morgan takes a seat at the edge of the bed, at some point during the transition he moves to rest his head against his brother’s shoulder as his arms fall to circle Morgan’s back.

Lips brush and press against his shoulder as hands run over the arch of his spine. Morgan murmurs sweet nothings into his skin as they sit there together in the morning light.

He is warm and sated, content. 

He pulls his head away from Morgan’s shoulder once his heart stops fluttering so violently in his chest, as soon as he can and without hesitation Morgan meets his lips again as his arms circle his waist, keeping him securely in his brother’s lap as his own arms come to rest around Morgan’s shoulders. 

Lips slide together, tongues press, and warmth settles in his chest. One of Morgan’s hands abandons his waist to cradle the back of his head, he whimpers into his brother’s mouth as one of his hands slides up to run through Morgan’s hair. 

The cock still inside of him gradually begins to stiffen once more as he playfully rolls his hips against his brother, Morgan hisses into his mouth before his hands return to his waist again. 

His legs feel weak, but he still finds himself rising up the prick with Morgan’s assistance. Morgan ensures that at least the head of his cock remains within the body above him, creating a loose seal to keep the seed already within, inside.

He sinks slowly down onto the cock, his head rolls back, his hand grasp at his brother and as he returns to Morgan’s lap, he can feel his brother grin against his neck before he is made to rise again.

He slowly bounces about his brother’s lap, reveling in their sin. 

He accommodates his brother willingly, happily even. He finds himself enjoying the feeling of fullness, the pressure as his walls part around the cock inside him, the slick spend sloshing about within him.

The voice which tells him to scream is muffled and dull in his head, the words Morgan sings filthy praises against his ear, telling him he is beautiful, oh so beautiful, and perfect, must not forget perfect. So warm and tight. 

He thinks tight is a lie, but a lie he can live with.

His brother’s words are deafening and fragilely quiet all at once.

The little words, lies or not, are accompanied by drags of lips and tongue, his breath escapes only as sighs and whimpers as pleasure fogs his head.

Somewhere in the background he can hear the bathroom door open.

“Well, don’t you two paint a pretty picture?”

He arches his back and whines, Custis stands just behind him, looking down contemplatively as he finishes buttoning his freshly pressed shirt, he is dressed for work, though his pants look remarkably tight. 

“Off to toil?” Morgan hums coyly as he is made to sink back onto the cock, drawing a tantalizing whimper to his lips. 

“Unfortunately…” Custis drawls, he can feel his other brother’s eyes trail over him, watching intently as his twin’s cock repeatedly disappears into the body above. 

“Have you a minute to spare?” Morgan asks teasingly as his grip on his hips tighten to stall his decent, he whimpers but does not move, does not writhe, Morgan’s cock sits just at the rim of his entrance, sealing the pooling loads of seed within, but only just. The slightest shift of his hips could dislodge his brother.

And he does not want to loose hold of is inside him, at least not yet.

“Have you a minute to spare me?” Custis quips back playfully as the front zipper of his pants is undone.

Morgan disappears from his entrance as their positions shift once more. Morgan lays flat on his back while he finds himself hunched over his brother; Morgan’s arms tug him down until they are chest to chest, but his hindquarters remain high.

For a few brief moments he feels the buildup of seed trickle closer, closer, closer to his loose hole, he whimpers and clings to whatever part of Morgan he can grab, burying his face back into his brother’s shoulder.

Morgan coos heatedly as his hands run soothing circles over his taught flesh.

Custis’ cockhead presses against his entrance, not into, just against. Enough to prevent anything from escaping but there is no stimulation, and the threat of Custis accidentally slipping free forces him to pause. 

“Oh, you are cruel brother.” Morgan purrs as he looks over his shoulder, Custis merely huffs.

“I can’t afford to get my suite dirty; you know that.”

He whimpers into Morgan’s shoulder as his brother arms reach around him to cup and spread his legs apart ever so slightly, not for his sake, but for Custis’ viewing pleasure.

He knows exactly what Custis is doing, and on any other day the very thought would sicken him. One of his brothers’ favorite indulgences has always been the act forcing him to his knees in shaded corners or bending him over or pinning him to whichever wall they fancy, fill him with their seed and send him on his way. 

Some days if they have the patience, they’ll at least ensure he suffers little, his comfort is of no interest during these rendezvous. The act is fast and revolting, leaving his thighs slick with seed depending on which twin demands his attention, his throat soar, his pride wounded.

And him feeling flustered and ashamed.

He gasps and tightens whatever hold he has on Morgan as the first spurt of Custis’ release spills into him, no further than his entrance. He loosely clenches around his brother, desperate to draw him inside.

He doesn’t care how he looks or sounds then and there, he wants Custis to press inside, to fill him properly. He nearly cries as he feels Custis retreat, he hears himself whine a strained babble of, ‘nononononono.’ As he presses his hips to empty air. Custis’ absence leaves him painfully open, the still hot spend just at his entrance threatens to spill from him, he attempts, futilely, to clench around the emptiness only to whimper as he feels Custis’ gather and press his rounded cheeks together before his prick slide over his entrance, settling between the cleft of his ass.

A broken sob escapes as Custis wastes what spend he has left across his back.

Its hot and rolling, but he wants it inside of him.

Morgan’s hands settle against his hips again, gently lowering him back onto the still hot cock below to fill him once more as Custis retreats fully. He vaguely feels the bed dip before lips press against his shoulder.

“I’ve drawn you two a bath.” Custis muses as he pulls away.

“Take care of Treavor Morgan, I’ll be back by lunch.” 

Morgan replies with some coy catcall before teeth finely scrape along his neck as he his made to rock onto his brother’s lap.

“You hear that Treavor?” Morgan purrs sweetly as his hips jerk, burying the cock into his loose entrance.

“Back by lunch, and we haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

Morgan holds his hips just above his lap, preventing him from sliding down while allowing Morgan to buck up. His hands settle against his brother’s chest, palm flat, fingers twitching as he futilely tries to balance himself atop Morgan in his awkwardly hunched position. His eyes roll, his back arches and he can feel himself sobbing as the heat in his gut coils and spills across Morgan’s stomach beneath him, Morgan laughs as he vainly and desperately tries to halt the roll of his brother’s hips.

It’s too much.

He feels like he’s on fire, burning hotter and hotter with each and every move Morgan makes.

Morgan grunts something before rising to sit, he is pressed tightly to his brother’s chest, close enough to feel his slick seed smear between them as Morgan continues to rock into him.

He clings to his brother desperately, Morgan’s name falls from his lips like some unholy mantra, he doesn’t know what he’s begging for, if he is begging for anything at all.

Morgan swears under his breath before he presses their lips together.

The kiss is not bloody, very unlike Morgan. 

The kiss is however bruising and wet, very much Morgan.

Filthy praises are breathed into his mouth as Morgan’s fingers dig into his waist, is he wasn’t bruised already, he will be by noon. Morgan’s prick presses into him fast and hard and perfect. Desperate. 

When Morgan finally does pull him down to sit flush against his lap, his brother hisses a strained murmur against his lips, one he prays is a lie.

“I love you.”

He screams.

In his position, the head of his brother’s cock presses perfectly against his prostate, the sensation is scandalously divine, and the heated spurts of seed which erupt from the prick with every twitch, even more so.

His breath catches in his throat as his head rolls back, the only thing which prevents him from falling to the floor is Morgan, Morgan who continues too press filthy lies and praises into his skin.

“Such a good boy.”

“Such a good boy for me.”

“So warm.”

“So wet.”

“Could stay here all day.”

He whimpers at the last lie which he honestly doubt’s is a lie at this point.

Morgan chuckles as he loops his arms around him, tugging him closer, securing him to his brother before one arm moves to grab at his leg, he allows Morgan to loop his legs around his waist.

“How about that bath, hm?” His brother muses lightly as he slowly rises to his feet. He scrambles to hold onto his brother’s shoulders and wrap his legs around the waist before him, his still hard cock is pressed snuggly between their bodies. 

A door opens and steam warmed air gently caresses his back.

He shyly raises his head from Morgan’s shoulder, he doesn’t remember resting it there.

The bathroom is pristine and spacious, designed for two to fit comfortably, unlike his own. The bathtub is designed for lounging, deep and wide with sloping sides and shelves littered with soaps and washes. 

Morgan presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth as he carefully steps into the tub. The water is hot, perhaps a touch to, he whines as Morgan sinks them down until the water reaches his shoulders.

Morgan maneuvers them until he is pressed against the sloping edge of the tub, Morgan still sits between his legs. Hand run along his legs beneath the water, trailing up his body delicately, Morgan is silent and pensive as he watches him gently lean into the tender touches.

When the hand settles against his cheek and the thumb brushes over his lower lip, he swipes his tongue across the scarred finger pad, Morgan exhales a low sort of laugh before moving to cup his head and draw him into another languid kiss. 

His arms rise from the warm water to wrap around his brother’s shoulders, keeping him close, keeping them close.

Morgan reaches for something amidst the vials of soaps scattered along the edges of the tub, he hears the distinct ‘pop’ of a cap opening before the heavy scent of his brother’s shampoo fills the air.

Pinewood and some heady spice, he’s used to the scent being accompanied by his brother’s musk, but by itself he finds it still pleasant. He startles as Morgan being to slowly lower him down into the water, the back of his neck dips below the surface before he jerks his head away from his brother’s mouth to hide over Morgan’s shoulder.

Morgan hums a light chuckle as a hand moves to cradle the back of his head once more while lips slide against his shoulder.

“Easy Treavor…” He hears his brother whisper just against his ear.

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you Treavor?”

He whimpers some needy cry as he feels Morgan’s prick begin to twitch again.

“Do you trust me, Treavor?” Morgan asks as he gently pries him from his shoulder, he looks between his brother’s eyes and thinks himself mad as he nods.

Morgan smiles like a wolf.

“Close your eyes.”

He shouldn’t.

He does.

Morgan slowly lowers him into the water, he thinks he cries as his head is tilted back to allow the water to wash over his closed eyes, but his ears are submerged by then and everything is quiet. 

His hands remain on Morgan, prepared to rip himself from the water if need be, consequences be damned.

The hand cradling his neck slowly moves upward to run through his hair, tousling is beneath the surface as his brother nips at his jaw with his lips.

Before long became too long, he feels Morgan pulling him from the water, he sputters as the water runs down his face, his attempt to clear his eyes is halted however as a cool gel is poured over the top of his head.

The scent of pine and what he thinks is cinnamon returns as well as hands which begin to work the shampoo into his hair. Morgan is silent once more and he does not mind the quiet. The hands, his brother’s hands, feel nice in his hair, fingers work through knots and gently scrape along his scalp. He finds himself leaning into his brother’s hands as they work.

The peace between them is unnatural some part of him thinks. Morgan is bloodshed and bruises, rough and demanding…

“Morgan?”

His voice is soft, uncertain, quiet even to himself.

The hands continue working through his hair, though their actions are subdued as the body before him hums inquisitively. He swallows as he draws his hands along wet skin, trailing them up until his thumb brushes along the underside of a jaw.

“Yes Treavor?” His brother hums coyly as his hands settle into soapy hair, holding his head in gentle pace. 

He doesn’t open his eyes; he merely moves his hands to mimic the hold Morgan has on his own head. A quiet moment passes between them before he whispers a quiet, confused.

“Kiss me?”

The body before him moves close, he can’t see it, only feel it. Feel Morgan’s warmth, the solid mass of his form, his smile as their lips press together.

Morgan’s hands continue to gently work through his hair, tilting his head about slowly to deepen the press of their lips as his own hands move to settle against his brother’s chest.

One of Morgan’s hands abandons his hair to slide below the water and settle around his lower back. The kiss becomes a lose, feather-light slide of lips before Morgan pulls away.

He knows what’s happening and instinctively moves his hands to grip his brother’s shoulders as he is slowly lowered into the water once more. He can feel the hand in his hair work out the suds while the hand circling his lower back draws lazy circles into his spine. He basks there patiently as Morgan works the shampoo out of his hair, the water is still warm, his brother’s hands still feel nice, the fire in his veins still burns and Morgan is hot and heavy inside of him.

He meets Morgan’s lips nearly as soon as his brother hauls him from the water. He manages to fold his legs beneath him before slowly lifting himself.

His brother growls into his mouth as his hands grasp his hips, pulling him back down onto the cock below. He chokes on a gasp which Morgan devours hungrily.

Morgan holds him firmly, he whines into his brother’s mouth, arching his back to try and ease the grip his brother has on him. 

“Not yet.” Morgan hisses against his lips.

“Want to clean you.” 

He nods feverishly, he’ll be good, he won’t move.

The hands leave his hips to slide up along his body, one curls around his lower back while the other reaches out to the rim of the tub again. He slowly opens his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the water from his lashes before he follows his brother’s arm. 

A warm, wet sponge is pressed to the side of his neck, the feeling of suds forming and the material gently scratching against his skin is pleasant, the soap smells similarly to the shampoo, though a tad spicier. 

He leans into Morgan, draping himself over his brother’s shoulder as the sponge circles his back. He complies with his brother throughout, offering his arms without conflict when prompted and leaning away from his brother when Morgan moves to his chest. 

He avoids his brother’s gaze though he can feel Morgan watching him. Morgan ensures his chest is thoroughly lathered before lowering the scrub to his stomach and lower back.

“You really are a mess.” Morgan hums lightly as he sets the scrub back onto its hook before he coils his arms around the waist before him. His hands run along Morgan’s body as his brother rids his skin of soap.

At some point, they find each other’s lips again and not long after, Morgan begins to grind their hips together.

Morgan holds his hips firmly, but the grip is no longer quite so crushing. He rolls and writhes in his brother’s lap, stealing breath from Morgan’s lips and exchanging it with pleased sighs and gasps. 

A hand reaches up to tangle in his wet hair, Morgan pulls their lips apart to breathe a playful demand.

“What do you want?”

He whimpers as he rolls his hips just right. Morgan nips at his lower hip as he repeats the question.

“What do you want Treavor?”

His voice escapes before he can eve think of the question his brother posed, before he can register what exactly he wants.

“I want to ride you.”

Is voice is slurred with want and desire. 

Morgan inhales deeply before he presses a final sloppy kiss to his mouth and leans back against the opposite wall of the tub.

“Ride me.”

It’s a demand.

He complies. 

The water sloshes languidly around them as he rises and falls on his brother’s prick, he would have loved to seek his own pleasure, but unlike his brother’s he is not greedy.

Morgan looks calm and composed beneath him, but his breath is strained. He presses down onto his brother and rolls his hips, his brother hisses in delight and reaches for him.

Hands settle on his hips, but Morgan does not try to gain control of his actions, his brother merely holds him, occasionally rolling his thumbs along the arch of his pelvic bone encouragingly. 

Morgan keeps his eyes trained on him like a wolf watching a rabbit. 

He lets his head roll back as he adjusts his hips, the tip of Morgan’s cock brushes his prostate with every move he makes, his voice falters in his throat as his hands scramble to settle against Morgan. 

There is fire in his belly, molten agony thick with bliss. His legs strain to support his body, his hands quake against Morgan’s chest. The rolling of his hips is desperate and the cries which crawl from his throat, needy.

Morgan coos gentle praises as his hand slowly begin to guide him. He feels himself gently falling back as Morgan sits, his hands find his brother’s shoulders as a stifled moan leaves his mouth.

Morgan rocks into him desperately, his breath leaves in him in panted gasps. His hands end up tangled in his brother’s hair as he breaths a string of begging whimpers against his brother’s lips.

Morgan reaches between their bodies to grasp his stiffened prick; he sobs into his brother’s mouth as he stains the water with his seed. Morgan rolls their hips together some few times before stilling, his eyes roll as heat blooms in his belly. The hands he has twisted in his brother’s hair slide down to Morgan’s neck, curling around the back to keep his brother close. 

When Morgan finally pulls away, he cannot bring himself to follow. His older brother sits back, looking down at him with a wolfish grin.

“You see Treavor?” He hums lightly as he runs a hand over the slightly swelled stomach before him.

“We can be nice… You need only behave.”

He whimpers as he feels Morgan slowly, slowly, slowly, slip free from his entrance.

The water level dips as Morgan steps from the tub, grabbing a spare towel from a nearby rack.

“Feel free to dry off.” Morgan muses as he runs the towel through his hair.

“I’m off to breakfast.” Morgan said lightly as he tosses the towel into the hamper.

Fingers cradle through his hair before Morgan presses a chaste kiss to his temple.

“You were very good Treavor… Perhaps I’ll return the favor and bring you back some breakfast, hm?” 

Morgan disappears from his side before he can respond.

He lays in the tub, the water still warm, he shivers regardless.

His hand presses against the not quite invisible swell of his gut and he writhes as the water beneath him becomes a sickly pale silver. 

Hot tears of shame roll down his cheeks as his hand catches the sobs which try to escape his lips.

Despite the water and the lingering scent of soap he feels dirty.

Violated.

You should have done something. Some part of his head mutters. 

He agrees with the voice, he should have… But what? And how?

He is not as strong as his brothers; he is not as fast. Had he struggled they would have subdued him, had he even managed to run, they would have caught him.

He knows these facts all too well.

You should have done something. His head reiterates.

He presses his hand harder against his stomach, biting into the hand which covers his mouth as he feels the spend slip free from his open entrance.

The door to the bedroom slams open, heels click against the polished wood as they approach the bathroom door.

“Treavor Pendleton!” His stepmother shrieks as she throws the door open. Her tirade begins with her screaming at his indecency before she roughly throws the towel Morgan had been using at him.

The towel hits his head and thankfully falls around him, creating a hiding pace under the material which he cowers behind, looking down to the murky water, watching the vile woman’s reflection as she continues to scream.

“Honestly! You should be old enough to be able to take care of your own damn self! Not rely on the charity of your brothers like some weak… Thing!”

He bows his head ever so slightly, hunching lower as he murmurs a quiet, “Yes mother…” 

“And not only this! But your squandering your brothers time! You know they are expected to carry out their duties as heirs, they shouldn’t have to waste their attention on the likes of you!”

He remains silent.

“I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve such a useless child, Treavor. Your brothers turned out fine!” 

A hand collides with the back of his head.

“I blame the whore that birthed you. You look her ilk after all.” 

His shoulders shake. He wants her gone. 

“Mother?” 

Both he and the vile woman still at the voice, he turns slowly to see Morgan at the door, casually leaning against the frame, brow cocked, eyes alight with mirth and fire. 

“Ah Morgan.” The woman coos lightly as she stands, turning to face his ender brother with a smile.

“I was just about to help Treavor back to his room.” She explains calmly, Morgan huffs.

“I doubt Treavor is in any state to be moving much right now mother.” His voice is edged with a hiss, a warning.

“You remember how poorly we took to the medication the first few days. Custis and I would rather Treavor have company until he can stand without falling.”

The woman’s cheek twitches as she withheld her sneer.

“Oh, but Morgan, your work! It’s hardly fair for Treavor to monopolise your attention, you have much better things to do I’m sure.” Their conversation is medical sweet, leaving a foul aftertaste in his mouth.

“And you brought him breakfast?” The woman coos as she finally steps from the bathroom.

“I have no idea what he has done to deserve brothers as good as you and Custis.”

Morgan’s reply is too quiet for him to hear but the door closes soon after.

He can feel Morgan settle down beside him outside the tub before the towel over his head is removed. Gentle fingers run through his hair as the tub water is drained.

Morgan presses gentle kisses to his skin as the water recedes before another towel, dry, is offered to him. Once he is adequately dried, Morgan scoops him up and returns them to the bed. The sheets are clean and fresh, he doesn’t think about when the servants changed them or what they may have heard.

A small platter of food rests against the bedside table.

Morgan gathers him into his lap, he willingly tucks his head beneath his brother’s chin.

He doesn’t want to care anymore.

Morgan offers him a grape.

He doesn’t care anymore.

He leans forward and takes the grape from his brother’s fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> I live for comments, but hit me up if you have an idea you think I may like.


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